


Eight Ways to Fall Apart

by bughnrahk



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (sort of), Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Hank, D/s, Dominance and Submission, Erotic Electrostimulation, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Factory Issue Connor doesn't come with a dick, Forced Orgasm, Gentle Sex, Hair-pulling, Handcuffs, Interchangeable Dicks, M/M, Mild Embarrassment, Mirror Sex, Pornography, Praise Kink, Size Kink, Top Connor, Wireless Robot Dick, he had to buy them all at the apple store for androids, ruined orgasm, safe words, sex in public, wireplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-07-02 13:48:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15797796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bughnrahk/pseuds/bughnrahk
Summary: Connor has eight interchangeable dicks he keeps in his bedside dresser, and Hank is intimately acquainted with all of them.--Individual chapters are tagged with relevant warnings/kinks. Tag-list will update as chapters are posted.





	1. Angel of the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you, ken doll!Connor + bottom!Hank tumblr crowd, for making this happen and providing awesome dick suggestions for my contribution to the dickscourse.   
> Y'all are fabulous and I love you. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Angel of the Morning: soft and hazy early morning sex 
> 
> Maybe the sun's light will be dim  
> And it won't matter anyhow  
> If morning's echo says we've sinned  
> It was what I wanted now  
> And if we're victims of the night  
> I won't be blinded by the light

The bed shifted. 

The warmth against Hank’s back trickled away, letting the cold fingers of dawn pluck chills into his skin. Connor pressed a kiss to his cheek and tugged the comforter tight around Hank’s shoulders. His lips crested feather-light over Hank’s temple, warm and soft like the first kiss of sunlight sneaking through the bedroom curtains. 

Hank grumbled and burrowed into his pillowed. “Five more minutes.” 

Connor's fingers ghosted across his forehead, pulling the hair away from his face. "I'm going to go let Sumo out. Stay in bed as long as you like." 

Glory of glories. Blessed Sunday mornings. Hank grunted, too groggy to offer a proper response. Connor would catch his agreement no matter what he said anyway. Connor's fingers dipped under the collar of his shirt for one brief moment, and then he was out of the bed, treading softly down the hall with Sumo's over-long nails click-clacking at his heels. Hank listened for the door, and drifted back to sleep while Connor muttered soft praises to Sumo. 

Sleeping in was a luxury. Hank rarely drank himself into a stupor and dragged himself home to pass out in the wee hours of the night, and when he  _ did,  _ Connor was still there at the ass-crack of dawn to drag his sorry carcass to work before the sun had time for its morning piss. The first few weeks (months, Hank didn't want to kid himself, it had been an uphill slog) had resulted in countless mornings of bitching and shouting. Pissing matches between him and Connor, over Hank's inability to take care of himself. He was an adult goddamnit and if he wanted to fuck himself up, he damned well would. 

"My time with you is finite, Hank," said Connor, solemn. "I want to enjoy as many years of it as I can." 

That had sobered Hank up something fierce. He hadn't been great about it, but he'd tried. Didn't keep as much booze in the house in attempt to deter the temptation. Tried not to frequent Jimmy's except on nights that were really bad. Wasn't perfect. He'd never be free of it, the drink or the depression. But the effort... just  _ making  _ the effort, helped more than Hank ever thought it would. 

Occasional sleepy Sunday mornings where he could doze in bed as long as he liked helped a fuck of a lot, too. 

Connor tiptoed into the room, stirring Hank enough to notice that someone else was around, but not enough to drag him into wakefulness. Connor rummaged through his bedside drawers, probably looking for something better to wear than the dog-biscuit boxer shorts and Hank’s most homoerotic ManOWar shirt he’d fallen asleep in . He didn't stay, Hank didn't stir, and sleep sucked him back down. 

The bitter smell of hot coffee woke him up an indeterminable time later. The mug clinked on the bedside table, near enough that Hank could practically taste it. 

The bed dipped. The covers tugged loose and slipped down. Hank didn't mind, because the room had warmed up with the afternoon, and Connor crowded into the space left behind by the cool air. He slipped a calf against Hank's, warm and smooth. 

Hank hummed and rubbed his leg against Connor's. "Stay like that?" 

"I could." Connor's breath tickled the hair at the back of his neck. Connor pressed his nose to the juncture of Hank's shoulder and inhaled. 

A plastic cap popped. 

"Or I could do something else." Connor pulled Hank's boxers down with one hand, tangling them around his thighs. He shifted closer, brushing the long, slender length of his  _ very erect  _ cock to the swell of Hank's ass. Already slick with lube. Connor had been busy.  "You don't have to do anything." 

"I'm just gonna lay here while you fuck me, huh?" 

"If that's what you want." 

Hank ground back against Connor's dick with a lazy roll of his hips. Connor made a short, choked off noise and gripped his hip. 

"Yeah," Hank sighed and tried to bury his smile. "Sounds good to me. Coffee'll get cold, though." 

"I'll make more." Connor shuffled back, taking the gorgeous press of his cock away with him. 

Hank thought about protesting, but before he'd fully made up his mind Connor's fingers - coated in lube - replaced it, trailing down the crease of his ass. Soft shivers of pleasure sparked in their wake and Hank couldn’t think of a better possible way to wake up. He spread his thighs. 

Connor hummed in approval. Hank buried his face to hide the hot flushing biting at his cheeks. Connor’s want for him was a thing that danced on the edge of being unreal. Too much, almost all the time, and Hank had trouble processing it.  

Connor pressed against Hank's hole, rubbing small circles into him without ever breaching. Every teasing tick and movement driving Hank to push back, seek more. There was nothing immediate or demanding about it. The lazy stroking stirred Hank's cock in slow pulses until it was hard and straining against the swell of his gut. 

Hank sighed. 

Connor pressed in. 

Hank bit his lip, eyes fluttering shut. "You're good at that." 

"I know." Connor chuckled and brushed his lips against the base of Hank's neck. He must have been sweaty. He was a tangled heap of morning unpreparedness, and Connor didn't care. Connor probably  _ liked  _ it. 

One finger turned into two, just as slow. Just as careful. An easy, quiet burn, the slick slide of his smooth fingers in and out of Hank. Hank swallowed a groan and pushed back against them. He reached back and groped for Connor's dick. Slender and perfectly curved. Uncut. Not particularly long, but just the thing to hit the spot for an early morning roll around. 

"Which one is it?" Hank closed his hand around the base and gave Connor a lazy stroke. 

"Component 5342." 

"Mmm," Hank brushed his thumb over the slit. No precum, this one didn't produce it, despite otherwise being a vastly realistic dick. "The pretty one." 

Connor slipped his fingers out of Hank and took Hank's hand, threading their fingers together. Hank rolled back to his side and tugged Connor close. Connor had to let go, just a moment, to line himself up. 

“Come on,” Hank breathed against his pillow, canting his hips up just to feel the drag of Connor’s slick cock tease his hole. He swallowed a groan and fisted the sheets. Perfect, fucking perfect. 

Connor shushed him and kissed the back of his neck. “Let me do it.” 

Hank exhaled and Connor pressed in. The first stretch burned. Connor took ahold of Hank's cock, squeezing him through the initial discomfort until Hank was boneless and writhing back against him. Connor eased in with incremental rolls of his hips, one slow inch at a time. He bottomed out to Hank's groan of approval, hips firm against Hank's ass. Thighs against thighs. Slotted together like two pieces of one strange, immutable thing. 

Connor fucked him lazily, grinding circular motions without ever really pulling out. It was fucking... fucking  _ perfect _ . Short slow thrusts that punched quiet gasps from his lips. Hank’s arousal built in slow waves, low and deep, deep down. A pulsing burgundy feeling that sparked as Connor pushed Hank's thigh up and sank deeper, dragging his cock against Hank's prostate. Hank shuddered and exhaled. 

"That's-" Hank started. 

Connor did it again, deliberate. "I know." 

" _ God _ ." Hank curled his hand around Connor's and they pumped his dick together. No hurry, no rush. Hank wasn't getting anywhere quickly and that was just fine. Perfectly fine. They could spend all fucking day doing this for all he cared. The sweet drag of Connor's dick inside him, Connor's warm breath tickling the back of his neck, his quiet sighs purred into the awakening daylight. 

"You're very compliant in the morning," Connor smiled against him, teasing the words into his skin. 

"m'not awake," but Hank ground his ass back against Connor's cock, even as he said it. His dick twitched between their fingers. Connor swept the precum across his head and rolled it down his length to slick their path. Hank shivered. " _ Fuck _ ." 

Connor sighed. "I want to be inside you all the time." 

Incorrigible robot. He made Hank's heart want to burst. Hank leaned back, ignoring the discomfort in his back from the angle, and let go of Connor's hand - his own dick - to slide his fingers through Connor's hair and pull him closer. Connor met him half way, crashing their mouths together in a tangle of lips and tongues. Connor groaned, humming electric between them. The angle was harder, and Connor couldn't reach as deep, but it was better like this. Getting to kiss Connor, while they were all pressed together. Inside and out. 

Hank's orgasm built in a slow crest, tightening in his stomach, buzzing just underneath his skin. Climbing with every sweet thrust of Connor's cock. Every drag and pull and press against his prostate that shot sparks shivering up Hank's spine. His kisses turned to messy gasps and Connor crooned with him. 

"I'm going to-." 

"I can feel it," Connor swept his tongue across Hank's bottom lip and rolled his palm over the wet tip of Hank's dick, "Come with me." 

Hank fell apart. Like the cracking of a dam. His pleasure crested and splintered, drawing him tight and gasping. His mouth opened in a wordless cry, letting Connor delve his tongue deep, press it to the backs of his teeth, and they trembled together. Hank's cock pulsed between their hands, and Connor's hips snapped close, grinding tiny circles as  he whined electric noises into Hank's mouth. Everything ebbed back to reality with the hard beat of Hank's heart. Connor's kisses eased away, but the little brat didn't, snug and tight against Hank's back, shoving his smile between Hank's shoulder blades. 

"I'm calling it Juice." 

Connor's grip tightened for a moment. He stirred, shifting like he wanted to prop himself up, but ultimately decided to sidle closer instead. He tossed a leg overtop of Hank's thighs, which had the misfortune of forcing his softening cock to slide free. 

"Juice Newton," Hank continued. 

"That's a terrible name." 

"Nah," Hank bit the bullet and turned all the way around to face him. Connor's fingers danced to his belly and rucked his t-shirt up. "She sang Angel of the Morning. It's perfect." 

"Your nicknames for my dicks are atrocious." 

"You like it." Hank grinned, toothy. 

Connor's mouth twitched. The bastard could control his facial expressions however he liked. Not a lot of involuntary movement there, so the little tug of a smile was deliberate. Meant for Hank to see. Hank knocked their foreheads together tossed an arm over Connor's waist. 

"I think I'm just gonna stay right here until tomorrow." 

"You could," Connor kissed him on the cheek. "Do you want me to bring you a book?" 

"You're really gonna let me stay in bed all day?" 

"Why not?" Connor's smile was brilliant, crooked and awkward, squinting his eyes in that not-quite-right way that made it entirely perfect. "It's Sunday." 


	2. Metal Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank hates fundraising parties. Connor's wireless dick makes them more interesting. 
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Metal Meltdown: Sex in a public place, wearing sex toys under clothes, coming in pants, mild embarrassment 
> 
> Imminent collision  
> Shockwaves all around  
> Generating energy  
> Screams so loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly the hardest part of this was choosing only one(1) Judas Priest song.

"I hate going to these things." Hank leaned back against the bathroom sink naked but for old blue boxer shorts, arms crossed and jaw set. His uniform hung off the doorknob, pressed and lint-rolled, ready for an appearance. He'd worn it more in the last few months than he had the last five _years_.

"So you've said. Hold still please." Connor's fingers gripped Hank's chin, warm and hard, and craned his head to the side. Shaving cream lathered the sides of his beard. Connor pressed the edge of the razor to his cheek and guided it up against the grain.

Hank held still. "It's a fundraiser. I don't _have_ to be there."

"You don’t go to functions you _are_ supposed to go to. That’s not an excuse." Connor flicked shaving cream off the blade and dunked it under the warm water. He started again on the other side. Hank turned his cheek for him. "It's a fundraiser for New Jericho. Homes for homeless androids. It's important, Hank."

Important to _Connor_ , he meant. Which was the real reason Hank was standing there, letting his boyfriend shave half his beard off, prepping for the uncomfortable squeeze into his old uniform.

"I'm going, aren't I?"

Connor smiled. "You are, and I appreciate it."

Hank snorted. "Yeah, yeah."

"I mean it, Hank. It means a lot to me that you're coming to this with me."  

And how could Hank say no to that? How could he stay home and mope by himself when Connor thought it _meant a lot_ to have this washed-up old detective at his side for his fancy android fundraiser, personalized invitation from Mr. Markus Manfred and all.

"I could make it more interesting for you, though." Connor's tone fell low and dark.

Hank started, and it was only Connor's superior reflexes that kept him from getting nicked by the razor at his throat. Connor's fingers tightened on his jaw, just for a moment, punishingly tight to keep him in place. Hank sucked in a sharp breath and relaxed back against the counter.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I could activate component #4332. We have enough time before the party to get it synced up with me," Connor cocked his head. The tip of his sinfully pink tongue snaked out and wet his bottom lip. He pulled the razor away from Hank's face. "And installed inside of you."

Hank gripped the sink to keep himself upright. "Metal Meltdown"

Connor's grin widened, predatory. "Yes."

"You want me to wear it at the party."

"It's not large. I don't think it would be uncomfortable."

Not uncomfortable he says. Like walking around with one of Connor's dicks up his ass was gonna be a teaparty. A dick that Connor could _feel_ , even when it wasn't physically attached to him.

"You want to fuck me at the party." It was meant to be a question but Hank couldn't get his voice to inflect. His throat clogged.

Connor nodded and stepped into his space. Hank inhaled. Connor ignored him and finished the last few swipes of the razor and set it down behind Hank, crowding up against him to do it. His thighs pressing into the v of Hank's groin. Where Hank's burgeoning erection strained against his belly.

Connor smiled. "You like the idea."

"I think it's a _terrible_ idea." Hank swiped a mostly-clean towel off the counter and scrubbed it over his cheeks. "But it would make the party more interesting."

"So?"

"Yeah, let's fucking do it."

\---------------------

"It's nice to see you here, Lieutenant. Connor couldn't confirm whether or not you'll be able to attend." Markus said, with a grace that Hank had never possessed a damned day in his life. He looked like he was meant for this stuff. Soothing crowds and pulling people to his will. All smooth and handsome in a suit that was worth more than anything Hank had in his closet.

Hank took his outstretched hand and gave him a quick shake. "Wouldn't miss it."

"You look a little under the weather. Are you alright?"

He'd been built for home care, hadn't he? Taking care of that famous artist whats-his-face Manfred. Of _course_ he'd picked up on Hank's discomfort. Extreme _lack_ of discomfort. Hank squirmed, feeling the toy - the _dick -_ shift inside him. He'd been flushed red and sweating since the start of the night and it was damned hard to keep his face neutral when it _undulated_ as he moved. Connor was having an easier time of it, the bastard, but Hank had caught him steeling himself with an arm on the wall once or twice during the evening.

Hank shrugged. "Long day. Just tired."

Markus squeezed his arm and nodded sagely. "Understandable. Take care of yourself, Lieutenant."

"You too. Knock 'em dead!"

Markus' smile was small but sincere. He disappeared into the crowd to schmooze with the rest of the fundraiser folks. Nice enough guy, but Hank was glad, _so fucking glad_ to be left alone for a moment. To catch his bearings. Hank eased himself, slowly, steadily, back to his seat and gritted his teeth as Connor's dick pressed deeper inside him. It was just as hard not to rock his hips, to give them both what they wanted. Fuck, he'd been hard in his pants all night. Thank _god_ his uniform was long enough to hide that. Thank _god_ he wasn't expected to actually do anything here.

Thank-god he was alone at the damned table.

Hank took a deep breath and let it out in one long, slow draw.

Connor's dick _vibrated_.

Hank balled his hands into fists.

"Hey, Hank!"

Hank blinked, blearily, and shook his head. The vibrations ebbed away to a barely-there-buzz that made Hank's blood electrify. He looked up.

Ben beamed at him, looking robust and cheerful as usual. "You cleaned up your beard! Looks good."

Hank dragged a hand over his face. Cheeks bare, but his chin and lips framed with a neatly trimmed square of grizzled grey. Connor had done a real number on him. Been a long time since he'd gone anywhere without a full beard and his hair falling shaggy over his face, and it made him feel... exposed. _Naked_. (Hank had told Connor as much. Connor replied with," Good" and a saucy grin.) Neither of them wanted Hank's hair shorn short, but Connor had managed to get it to cooperate into a slicked back ponytail. Hank almost looked presentable.

"What're you doing here?"

Ben laughed. "Officer Nines brought the DPD a few spare invitations. We can't all have android boyfriends."

Right. _Right_. Hank snorted to cover his embarrassment. "Does that mean Reed's around here somewhere?"

"He _is_ Nines' partner."

"I don't know which of them I feel more sorry for." Hank snorted and shook his head. Gavin was... fucking _Gavin_ . Temperamental, quick to strike out, and aggressively uncomfortable with androids even in the wake of the revolution. Nines' penchant for by-the-book behavior and his no-nonsense attitude made them an odd team. Nines didn't take any of the shit Gavin was ready to deal out. Not that Chris or Tina let him walk all over them, but Nines actively shut that shit down. No patience for unruly fucking about. Nines didn't really... _human_ very well.

"You were like that about Connor in the beginning, though, weren't you?" Ben's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Always trying to leave him in the car."

Yeah. Hank had been a real shit. No excuses. He'd fucked up real back with that. But at least he'd been...

Been what? Better with androids? He literally had anti-android propaganda on his work board. He'd shoved Connor up against the wall (in an entirely unsatisfactory manner) the second day he'd seen him. He'd gotten drunk and held a gun to Connor's head. Lots of things Hank would have liked to forget, but couldn't. Wouldn't.

So, yeah. Maybe he had been a lot like Gavin was to Nines, in the beginning. There was a fucky thought.

It was a damned miracle Connor was into him at all.

Huh.

 _Literally_.

Hank bit back a grin.

Something heavy fell on Hank's shoulder. He tilted his head back to see Connor sidling up behind him, smiling his crooked little smile. Not a damned hair out of place, but his LED was cycling steadily. Not entirely nonplussed. Hank shifted in his seat, just to watch the light flicker.

"Hey, Connor!" Ben beamed.

"Detective Collins," Connor smiled back. His eyes narrowed, just a little, and the quiet buzz in Hank's ass burst into one bright pulse of pleasure and Hank gasped, bowing over himself.

"You alright there, Hank?" Ben inched forward, frowning.

"Peachy," Hank managed, gaspy and breathless and entirely too telling.

Ben didn't seem too bothered by it.

"Markus' speech is starting soon," said Connor, taking out the chair next to Hank. "Do you want to sit with us, Detective Collins?"

"Ben, please," said Ben. He'd told Connor a hundred times, but the kid was still funky about using first names. Except for Hank's. That had been a hard fought battle. The 'Lieutenant Anderson's didn't pop up too much anymore.

Ben took a seat. Hank wanted to kill Connor. Connor smiled, pleased as a predator, and snaked a hand under the table to grope the top of Hank's thigh. As if being buried inside his ass wasn't good enough for him. Connor squeezed. The dick vibrated. Hank swallowed down a groan and tried really, really hard not to die.

"Hank, you seem a little bit-."

"Nope." Hank waved Ben off. “I'm fine."

Ben's face smashed together like a displeased teapot and Hank wished to hell he had his hair to hide behind. But he didn't. So he sat up straight, knowing the position rammed Connor's dick deep, _deep_ inside him, and took a deep breath. Connor's fingers trailed to the inside of his thigh, barely brushing the painful swell of his cock straining out against his zipper.

Connor wanted to kill him. Very clearly. In the most humiliating and _amazing_ way possible.

Markus saved him by standing up to the podium and drawing the attention of the room. The androids fell quiet first. Connor's LED pulsed in several rapid beats, and Hank caught sight of several others in the same state. Some sort of blue-tooth android telepathy. Markus' speech was commanding and compelling. He kept the room focused on him without ever raising his voice.

Hank didn't pay much attention.  Progress for android rights - very important. Still lots of work ahead of them - even more so. Any and all support provided was appreciated - of course.

Hank stared roughly in the direction of Markus, but his gaze was unfocused.

Connor slid the flat palm of his hand in between Hank's thighs. Just resting there, no pressure at all, where Hank's cock was weeping and desperate for attention. Hank _didn't_ whine. He didn't make any damned noise at all, even though he practically had to swallow his tongue to manage it. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut - to prepare himself - and clenched down around the cock inside him.

Connor gripped the arm of his chair so hard the metal bent.

Hank wrestled the smile off his face.

Connor exhaled and eased his hand off the chair, ogling the sharp dent in the metal. He flexed his fingers. He turned sharply to Hank, eyes narrowed, and pressed his palm harder against Hank's straining erection.

Hank did it again.

Connor's nostrils flared. Hank tried really, _really_ damned hard not to smile. He rocked back in his seat, which shifted the cock, but it couldn't get any fucking deeper in him. Just that little moment made Hank's breath stutter. Fuck, if Ben hadn't decided to stay at the table with him, he could probably get away with just doing this. Rocking Connor's dick inside him, getting off on it. Driving them both wild. Thrusting against Connor's hand and back into his dick. Just this. Right here. At the fucking table.

It the middle of Markus’ very fucking important fundraiser.

Hank, cleaned up in his uniform all slick and neater than he'd looked in years, debased to fucking himself on his android's dick in a room full of socialites eager to grease their pockets with political pressure points.

Hank hung his head, hating how his hair didn't fall around it. _Loving_ that his hair didn't fall.

" _Connor,"_ he whispered.

Connor thumbed the button of his trousers. Panic shot through Hank's heart.

"Thank-you all for making it out tonight. Jericho appreciates everyone's efforts." And with that, Markus' speech was over.

Connor stood and clapped. Hank turned, dazed and sluggish, and raised his hands a few time without any real vigor behind it. As the applause died, a low, sweet strum of classical music flitted about the room. Hank couldn't tell the difference between Beethoven and... and any of those other mother fuckers, but the sound was soft and uplifting. Slow without being melancholy. Not entirely Hank's cup of tea, but it was pleasant enough.

Connor jostled their shoulders together. "Dance with me?"

"Are you _fucking kidding me?"_ Hank hissed between clenched teeth. He grabbed Connor's shoulder and pulled him back down to his seat. "I’m barely managing to wobble around on two feet right now."

Connor’s smile lit up his eyes, like hot coffee in the morning, like the smell of rain on fresh tilled dirt. "Please?"

And there it was, the kid's dirtiest weapon. The widening of his puppy-dog eyes and the slightest downturn of his chin, and Hank's resolve shattered like so much cheap plaster.

"Right." Hank took his hand and gingerly rose to his feet. The toy shifted, and their fingers tightened together, the pulse of pleasure spiking through them both and clashing together between their hands. "One dance."

They walked together, hand-in-hand to the edges of the dance floor. Hank wanted to keep close to the wall and closer yet to free seating because he really shouldn't have been doing this at all. He took the lead, one hand on Connor's trim waist, the other pressed palm to palm. Connor stared at it a moment, their hands entwined, and nodded to himself. Deliberate. So Hank would see it. He skin fizzled and drowned away before Hank could ask any questions. As if Hank would. Connor wasn't eager to reveal himself like that in public, but this was... this was some shit that shouldn't be out here anyway. And if Connor wanted to make sure they were touching, really touching, all the ways that mattered, Hank wasn't gonna stop him. The smooth, cool press of his palm was grounding, threading away some of the crackling tension bursting between them. Hank moved, and Connor moved with him. Inside him.

Connor slipped an arm over Hank's shoulders to pull him closer and pillowed his head on Hank's shoulder, under the crook of his chin. His warm breath teased the skin there. They were the slowest moving couple on the dance floor, clinging to each other, swaying in tiny, aborted increments that made both their chests jump.

Every step made Connor's dick shift and press. Hank grit his teeth and exhaled sharp through his nostrils. His fingers dug into Connor's waist. "Connor, I'm gonna have to- _oh fuck_."

Sit down, he was gonna say. He needed to stop.

Connor didn't twitch, but his dick ground deep, as much like a thrust as Connor could make wirelessly.

Hank's knees buckled. " _Connor_." He flashed him a warning look.

"It's alright," said Connor. "I've got you."

Hank was acutely aware of the throng of people around them. Androids and humans alike, dressed to the fucking nines. Swaying like perfect marionettes around the dancefloor to the soft whistle of piano and violin. No one was staring at them. No one even _cared_ , too wrapped up in the joie de vivre of the party itself to noticed a washed up old cop losing his shit with his gorgeous android partner.

"Alright," Hank ground out, straightening to his full height. "You better not let me fall."

"Never," Connor smiled, and Hank's heart burst at the brilliance of it.

Connor tugged Hank forward by the shoulders until they were pressed tight together and Hank's cock ground against Connor's belly. Connor signed, content, and lipped kisses under his jaw as they swayed. Every touch came with a twitch and buzz inside of Hank. A sharp spark of want that made Hank's thighs quake, but Connor’s grip was hard. Holding him up, just like he'd said.

"I love the way you feel," Connor whispered, nuzzling Hank's neck. "You're so warm and tight around me. I can feel every skip in your pulse." Hank jerked, Connor laughed, softly, breathily, into his skin. "Just like that."

"This is the dirtiest thing we've ever done."

"Mmm."

Connor stepped forward, forcing Hank back. Driving his cock _deeper_ . Hank stuttered a gasp and clung on. Connor's hips slotted against Hank's and every sway across the dance floor ground his dick between them. Constant, rubbing, uneven stimulation that made Hank's head spin. Assaulted from both sides from this pretty little devil that for _some_ ungodly reason couldn't get enough of him.

"Do you feel it?" Connor breathed. "Do you feel me?"

"How could I _not_?"

Connor threaded their fingers tightly together and the interface pads all along his palms lit up and buzzed. Static thrummed between them, prickling goosebumps down Hank's arm. _Oh_. Like that.

"Yeah," Hank sighed. "Yeah, I feel you."

"I'm going to fuck you now."

"You're already-." Hank snapped his teeth shut to cut off his groan. Connor's dick _writhed and pulsed_ , filling up every space Hank didn't realize he had inside him. The incessant buzz crested to a torment, lighting off every nerve ending. Hank shook. He couldn't fucking _move_. Connor soothed a hand down his back and muttered something Hank was too far gone to hear. The weight inside him shifted, _stretched_ , pushing into every inch of him. A white hot crescendo of pleasure gripped him, growing.

"You have to stop." Hank panted, clutching desperately at Connor's waist. "I'm gonna-."

Connor's dick dragged roughly across his prostate, _once_ , and Hank lost it. He shouted. The harsh waves of his orgasm surged through him, bursting fractured, fizzling heat. Connor grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down to muffle his noises into Connor's collarbone. Hank's legs melted to butter and only the steel bar of Connor's arm around him kept him upright in any capacity. _The buzzing didn't stop_ . The steady thrum, torturous, driving into him. Hank bit the edge of Connor's suit and growled. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes but he couldn't fucking open his mouth to tell Connor to _stop_ or the whole fucking room would hear him fall apart.

Connor's fingers dug into his shoulder so tight Hank thought he might break. Connor stilled. _Completely_. Breathing and all. The only motion the sudden burst of static between their fingers and one last pulse of Connor's dick, deep in side him.  A high noise escaped his mouth and dwindled to a contented sigh, the only sign to announce the completion of his own orgasm. The buzzing stopped. Hank groaned and and tried to draw himself together, but his legs were weak.

"We're leaving." He straightened incrementally, and it _burned_ so sweet to move. "Right now."

Hank had just come in his pants like a fucking _teenager_. His goddamned uniform. In a room _full_ of people.

Connor stepped back to stare at him. He was unruffled as always, not even breathing hard. No flush in his cheeks. Hair barely tousled. His jacket was bunched up under Hank's grip, but Hank couldn't get himself to let go. Hand just wasn't listening to him. Connor's lips rose into a smile, crinkling his eyes.

"Right now," said Hank, voice hoarse. "We gotta go."

Connor adjusted Hank's jacket, tugging it low over his hips to hide the - _oh fuck_ \- the very obvious wet spot over his softening cock. He took Hank's  hand and guided them out of the room, LED spinning to calculate the easiest route out of here. Fuck, Hank had never been more grateful for that piece of programming. Hank's steps were aborted and jerky, so Connor drew an arm around his waist to help him. It would be a fuck of a lot easier if he could just take Connor's dick _out._

They almost made it to the door before someone stepped in front of Connor's pre-calculated path, driving them both to a halt.

Nines. Dashing in white. Eye-to-eye and toe-to-toe with Connor, his face smooth and stern as a fresh sheet of ice.

Connor squeezed Hank's middle, reassuring. "The lieutenant isn't feeling very well. I've sent Markus our apologies."

Nines' ice-chip eyes narrowed. They shifted, like the clicking of a gear into place, from Connor to Hank, and back again. "That was unacceptable behavior for a public venue."

"Oh god." Hank dragged a hand over his face. He fucking _knew_.

Connor didn't twitch. "Dancing with a romantic partner is completely acceptable at a formal function. I think you're mistaken."

Both sets of LED's flashed yellow, calculating.

Nines stepped out of the way. Connor dipped his chin in thanks and prodded Hank along to the exit.

"How did he _know?"_ Hank hissed.

"Vibrational frequencies?" Connor led them to the car and herded Hank into the passenger seat.

Hank winced and squirmed, trying to ease the discomfort. Thank fuck it wasn't a long drive home.

"Wave-length interference, possibly," Connor continued, buckling himself into the driver's side.

"Wait... wait. Hold the fuck up. I had a conversation with _Markus._ Are you telling me android fucking _Moses_ knew I had your dick crammed up my ass all night?"

"Of course not." Connor squeezed his thigh and shot him a reassuring smile." Markus was built for home care and nursing, not investigation."

"Thank god for small mercies." Hank twisted his ponytail loose to give himself something to hide behind.

"Although." Connor paused, head cocked. "He is part of the RK series."

"Fuck."

Connor laughed and dragged him into a kiss while the engine idled.


	3. Lick it Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes your robot boyfriend just needs to see a guy on his knees with a dick in his mouth, y'know? Hank is happy to oblige. 
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Lick it Up: Face fucking, hair pulling, wire play, mild D/s undertones  
>  **tw for surprise (but welcome) facial**
> 
> Don't need to wait for an invitation  
> You gotta live like you're on vacation  
> There's something sweet you can't buy with money lick it up, lick it up  
> It's all you need, so believe me honey  
> It ain't a crime to be good to yourself

The moment Connor slammed through the door he deactivate his skin. All of it, as far as Hank could see, which wasn't a great deal because of the shirt-and-tie get-up, but it was face-neck-hands, and Connor made quick work of ripping his jacket off and tossing it in the direction of the coat hanger.

"That kinda day, huh?" Hank peered at him over the top of his, _ugh_ , reading glasses. He dog eared his book and set it on the coffee table.

"I don't understand why it has to be like this," Connor unwound his tie and and jammed it into his jacket pocket. He popped his shirt buttons from theirs holes with vicious efficiency. Everything underneath the shirt was white plastic. "We earned our freedom and people -" he paused, nose wrinkling," - _humans_ still have to be so... so..."

"Fucking shitty?" Hank offered.

"Exactly." Connor collapsed onto the couch and dropped his head to Hank's shoulder. "Before I was a deviant I didn't care. None of it mattered to me because I _was_ just a machine. I didn't feel."

"Connor..."

"When does it get better, Hank?" Connor peered up at him, mouth pressed to a thin line.

Hank threw an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. "I don't know. People are really good and keeping their heads up their asses. I wish I had an answer for you, but I don't. We have enough trouble not being dicks to each other."

Connor huffed and burrowed into Hank's side.

"You want to tell me what happened?"

"Witness refused to talk to me because she saw my LED. She said she wasn't interested in giving information to a glorified computer, she'd only talk to a human cop."

"Is that for the Gordon case? You should have waited. We could have gone in together."

"I don't need you to protect me from bigots, Hank. I just wish they didn't exist at all." Connor rolled back and stared at his hands. He flicked the skin on and off, letting it bleed away in bright blue lines. Ultimately, he kept it off, and balled his fingers into fists. "Ben took over for me. He got us the information we needed, but he was so much slower than I would have been. I can _see_ pressure points. I can _read_ cortisol levels and stress signals, Hank. I'm good at what I do."

"Better than all the rest of us, that's for sure."

"I don't like being pulled away from a case because I'm an android. Humans suck."

Hank laughed. "They sure do."

Connor quirked his mouth in a grin and side-eyed Hank. "You're not going to dispute that, Lieutenant?"

"I think I've done my fair share of sucking."

Connor grinned, small and hesitant at first, but it was there. "I don't mind it so much from you."

"At least I'm good for something, huh?"

Connor pushed off the couch and stretched. No reason for it, because he didn't have muscles, except to untuck his shirt from his pants so Hank could see the flash of white. Plastic creaked. Joints whirred. Connor lowered his arms and shook himself off.

"I'm going to change out of this."

"You're going to go steal one of my sweaters is what you're going to do," Hank grabbed his book.

"Maybe." Connor bent and pressed a kiss to the top of Hank's head. He strutted down the hallway.

Connor took his sweet time coming back from the bedroom, and when he did, he was predictably wearing one of Hank's sweaters. A baggy Black Label Society hoodie with the zip undone to mid-chest, revealing the white-grey lines of Connor's exoskeleton and the top arch of his pump regulator. The sweater hung low over the curve of his ass, revealing an inch of black boxer-briefs, and the rest of Connor's long, white legs. Hank managed, somehow, to force his gaze back up to Connor's face.

Connor cocked his head, smiling. "How do I look?"

Hank patted the couch cushion in invitation. "Gorgeous."

Connor settled next to him and threw his legs over Hank's lap. "Thank-you."

Hank grunted.  

Skin or no skin, Connor was breathtaking. It had taken Hank a while to get used to seeing him like that, white and grey plastic plates, seams visible where his joints attached. No hair, no eyelashes, no lips, no eyebrows, but still expressive. Still beautiful. Still distinctly Connor. He was still strong and lithe, still ridiculously tall (even if Hank was ridiculously taller). His fingers were pieces of art, meticulously crafted to tiny little details. Inside and out, just... gorgeous.

Hank set it book down. "You want to watch something stupid with me?"

No game on tonight, but the both of them enjoyed sitting through dumb old movies, and Hank was pretty sure some network was streaming Sharknado and it's excellent sequels on repeat. He'd watch it just to see Connor's LED go haywire.

"No, actually. I had something else in mind." Connor leaned back against the far arm of the couch. His eyes were half-lidded. He toyed with the zipper of the hoodie for a moment. Hank's eyes were drawn to it, mouth suddenly very dry. Connor dragged the zip down until the hoodie fell apart.

There was an obvious bulge straining the fabric of his boxer shorts.

"Decided to put on more than just some comfy clothes, huh?" Hank popped his glasses off, closed the arms, and set it on the coffee table.

Connor smiled and let his knees fall open. "I might have."

It was difficult to tell which one, beneath Connor's underwear. He was already erect, which helped. Hank could make out the size, the shape. Not one of the bigger dicks. A nice average size, thick enough but not something Hank would be feeling all week if they went at it really hard. Not a lot of curve to it, but the briefs could hide that. Most of them looked kind of weird when Connor turned his skin off. A few of them just weren't meant for that, and it was startling to see a flesh-and-blood dick jutting out of plastic hips. The rest just looked... like extensions of Connor. More grey and white, articulated silicone pieces.

Hank would put money on this being one of those. Connor didn't seem to be in the mood for anything too human tonight.

Hank circled his fingers around Connor's ankle. No give, when his skin was turned off. Just hard plastic, but Connor could feel through it anyway. He made a low sound in the back of his throat and flexed his foot against Hank's palm. Not the most sensitive part of his body, but it was gratifying to have him respond to Hank's touch anyway. Hank dug his thumbs into the arch of Connor's foot, just to make Connor sigh and roll his head back.

"What do you need, honey?" Hank turned to face him properly, sliding his hands up Connor's calves.

Connor ran his hand down his own torso, fingers splayed. The glow of his regulator pulsed bright for a moment.

Connor cupped himself through the briefs and held Hank's stare, smirking, in his own peculiar way. Hank had trouble picking up Connor's expressions without his skin at first. All he had to go by was the seam of his mouth and the tightening of his eyelids, but it didn't take long to get used to it. To read the quirks in Connor's face. Plastic surprisingly expressive.

" _Humans suck,"_ said Connor.

Hank laughed. "You're damn right we do."

Hank settled between Connor's thighs and tugged the hem of his briefs. He made eye-contact with Connor as he pulled them down. Connor's chest hitched - all for show, all for Hank. He didn't need to breathe, and his control was never shot this early in the proceedings.

Connor's cock sprung free. He made a pleased noise and pushed himself up on his elbows to watch the proceedings.

It was, as Hank suspected, one of his more eclectic dicks. One solid cylindrical piece, not particularly flexible, even though the silicone flesh of it had some give. The white matched the rest of Connor, with none of the dark grey plating. No seams. No head or testicles (a shame, but whaddaya do when your robot boyfriend wants a robot dick?). Simple and elegant in design, like a sports car. What it _did_ have, were rows of tiny interface sensors. Up the full length of the underside and scattered in rows along the girth, forming a tear-drop pattern over the very tip. And all of them glowed a soft, gentle blue-white.

It was probably Connor's prettiest dick.

It had also caused a kerfuffle when  they went to purchase it. Connor liked dragging Hank _to the physical store_ , even though they had a perfectly serviceable computer at home (on top of Connor's computer brain, of course), where they could order dicks from the comfort of their living room like civilized people. But Connor liked to hold things in his hands and, more important, he liked _Hank_ to do it.

"We have to make sure it's something you'll enjoy, Hank. It's important that you get to interact with the penis before we purchase it."

Hank told him to never, ever repeat those fucking words in his vicinity ever again.

Hank was pretty sure Connor just liked to watch him squirm.

And, for most of them, it hadn't been much of a problem. Go in, look at the options, buy the dick, get out. All the employees were very professional and seemed to know when to keep their distance. No issues at all.

But this one?

The salesperson working the floor (an android himself) had taken one look at Hank and told them this dick wasn't for them. It was built for android couples, humans need not apply. Connor's face had done the thing where he screwed it up tight and turned on the robot-thing, made himself nice and blank and unfeeling, and Hank knew _exactly_ what the fuck that meant.

They'd bought the damned dick, and Hank had promised they'd figure out some way to use it.

So Hank couldn't interface with Connor, big fucking deal. All those interface pads were still sensitive as hell. Not quite as top notch as Connor's tongue, but near enough. The most sensitive of any of his dicks. And Hank was gonna deny him that, because Hank wasn't made of plastic and circuit boards? Fuck that.

"Hank." Connor squirmed. "Don't just stare at it."

Hank pulled the briefs the rest of the way off and shuffled down the couch. It wasn't really big enough for the both of them to lay down properly like this, but damn, it felt nice to be cradled between Connor's legs. His knees pressing against Hank's ribs, urging him none-to-subtly toward his groin. Hank turned his face and peppered kisses down Connor's thigh. The plastic warmed under his breath.

"I like looking at it. I like looking at you."

Connor made an annoyed noise and rolled his hips up. His cock brushed against Hank's cheek. "You might be more comfortable on the floor."

"I'm sure my knees'll love that." Hank sat up. Connor gave him just enough room to shuffle to the floor between his legs instead.

Connor sat up, planting his feet on the floor. He tugged the throw pillow out from under his ass and tossed it on the floor.

Hank rolled his eyes, but shoved it in place and settled down on top of it. "You're a peach."

"We could go to the bedroom."

"Nah." Hank slid his hands up Connor's thighs and teased the base of his cock, the first row of sensors, with his thumbs. Connor shivered under his touch. "This is just fine."

They were fucking sensitive, those little touch pads. Hank just needed to bend low and breathe over them to make them light up like stars. Connor's thighs tensed. His hips jerked forward, chasing Hank's mouth.

"Don't tease me." Connor reached for him. Dug his fingers into Hank's hair. He curled his leg around Hank's side and urged him forward. "I'm not in the mood."

"You're the boss." Hank dragged his tongue up the underside of Connor's cock.

Connor gasped. Hank didn't have to look up to know his LED would be blinking up a lightshow. Funky thing about this dick, it's analyzing capabilities. Wasn't quite the same as whatever Connor had going on in his mouth, but Connor had told him, countless times, that he absolutely could pick up information from this cock. Traces of whatever was in Hank's mouth, Hank's pulse, Hank's dna. The idea had been kinda freaky at first. Hank hadn't been too sure about Connor fucking him with this one ( _"Hank, I've had my tongue up your ass, I don't see how this is any different"_ ), so it had mostly been relegated to the blowjob dick.

Which was good.

Hank liked sucking cock. Connor preferred to fuck Hank ten ways to Sunday with every other cock he owned, but this one? Yeah. Definitely liked shoving this one in Hank's mouth.

Hank closed his lips over the tip and pressed the flat of his tongue over the array of sensors.

There was no precum, and it tasted a little like sucking on a dildo, but not _quite_. There was something a little more organic to the flavor, something a little more Connor. A kinda thunder-shower aftertaste, the hum of something electric and dangerous right under his tongue.

"Hank," Connor growled. His grip tightened in Hank's hair. He tugged him down.

Hank stifled a grin and took him in his mouth properly. Connor's cock settled thick and heavy over Hank's tongue, firmer and smoother than any other dick he'd had in his mouth. And he fucking... _loved it._ Just this was enough to make his cock twitch in his pants. Hank groaned and reached down to adjust himself.

"I can feel your pulse jump," said Connor, a little breathlessly. "Take your cock out."

Hank shut his eyes and breathed hard. He fumbled, one-handed, with his sweat pants, until they were pushed down far enough to free his cock. He fisted it, pumping slow as it filled in his hand. There was just something about being on your knees with a hard dick in your mouth, to get your engine revved.

"Yes," Connor crooned. He threaded his fingers through Hank's hair, gathering it back out of his face. He pushed, just a nudge, just a little, enough to make Hank take him another inch deeper. "Just like that."

Hank found a rhythm, hollowing his cheeks over Connor's cock and pumping himself with lazy strokes, no urgency in his movements. Connor's hands on his head were a thrilling enticement. Gentle, so fucking gentle, threading through his hair, keeping it back, but he could so easily push Hank's face down, or give him a sharp tug. Hank's nerves were fire at the thought of it, his skin tingling everywhere Connor touched him, goosebumps prickling up his neck. Hank spread his knees as far as he could, tangled in his sweatpants, and groaned around Connor's dick.

"Give me you hand." Connor removed one set of his beautiful, perfect fingers from Hank's hair to reach for him.

Hank growled. He lowered himself over Connor's dick until he felt the head of it press against the back of his mouth. His throat convulsed, a pleasure/pain that made his whole body tremble. Hank had never been a champion dick sucker, never one of the guys that could take a cock all the way down his throat, but _fuck_ it felt good to push himself. Just like this. Teetering on the edge of too much.

Connor gave his hair a sharp tug.

Hank pulled off with a gasp. He sucked in a wet, raspy breath, chest rattling.

"Your hand."

Hank shoved it at him.

Connor's hands were smaller, but not _small._ Elegant, where Hank's were rough and calloused. But Connor's fingers curled around Hank's wrist like goddamned steel and pushed Hank's hand flat to the inside of his thigh. They pressed together, and a previously seamless panel hissed and clicked open, leaving all of Hank's fingertips brushing over live wires.

Connor shuddered and threw his head back.

The inside of Connor's thigh was a light show. Mostly wires, bundled up together like corded muscles. A few thick tubes carrying cooling thirium, and under that levers, pulleys, the steel pieces of his frame. The essence of Connor's considerable strength, right there, under Hank's fingertips. Hank could pull it all out. Disconnect the whole lot of it and leave Connor to his mercy. Connor fucking knew it, too.

And he fucking knew Hank wouldn't.

Connor's hand slipped around to cradle the back of Hank's neck, pulling him forward with a kind of gentleness that masked the fact that Hank would not have been able to pull away if  he'd wanted to.

He didn't.

Not a single fucking thing on earth could have kept him from wrapping his lips back around Connor's cock.

Connor's hips twitched, driving his dick deeper. Hank _groaned._ He twisted his fingers in the bundle of wires and tugged, tugged enough that Connor's hips jerked. More forcefully than Connor had expected, probably, driving his cock deep in Hank's mouth, but _fuck_ was Hank here for it.

_Fuck my face_ Hank would have said, if his mouth hadn't been full.

Connor caught his drift anyway.

He wasn't rough about it. Connor tangled his fingers in Hank's hair to hold him in place and thrust into him with lazy rolls of his hips. Every movement dragged the buzzing interface pads over Hank's tongue, sharp like 100 proof whiskey, burning his tongue in all the right ways.  Connor yanked Hank's hair taut every time Hank tried to chase after him. It stung.

So Hank did it more. He bobbed his head to meet Connor's thrusts, despite the sting. He sucked. He dragged his tongue up the underside, straight along the row of sensors, and twisted all the wires in Connor's thigh _tight_.

"Hank!" Connor made a sharp, inhuman noise and spread his thighs wide.

Hank hummed a low growl and dug his fingers deeper.

Connor tensed. He gripped Hank's hair and pulled him back, _off_ his cock. A protest was on the tip of Hank's tongue when Connor's back bowed, and his dick pulsed hot streams of... of _something_ across Hank's face. It landed warm and wet over his cheeks, in his beard, across his lips.

"Jesus, what-" Hank swiped his thumb through it to get a look.

It was clear fluid, a little thinner than semen, and odorless.

Connor sank back boneless into the cushions and shot Hank a lazy grin. "I got an upgrade. It's safe."

Hank popped his thumb into his mouth. It tasted... kinda watery and a little bit like silicone. None of the salty alkaline taste of semen. "Huh."

"I just thought it would nice to see you messy, after you suck my cock."

Hank felt his ears go warm. " _Huh_."

Connor crooked a finger at him and wet his... well, not his lips, but the seam of his mouth. "Let me clean you up?"

Hank rolled his eyes but couldn't keep the grin from tugging at the corner of his lips. He pushed himself to his feet, and sure enough, his knees twinged in protest. Oh fucking well, he'd live. He planted his hands on either side of Connor's head and leaned  toward him. Connor took hold of his cheeks and pulled him down the rest of the way, laving at the... cum? Was it cum? Sure, why not. Licking all the cum off his cheeks. Hank screwed his face up at the feel of Connor's tongue dragging through his beard.

"You're fucking weird."

"You like it," Connor hummed against his cheek. "How else am I supposed to recycle this?"

Hank made a face. "You're _really_ fucking weird."

"Mhmm. Take your pants off."

Hank shucked his sweats off, inelegantly, trying to balance with one knee on the couch. Connor slipped an arm around him to keep him up. Just that, one slender little robot arm, like a steel fucking pipe at the small of his back, and Hank was good. He kicked the sweats to the floor and settled back over Connor's lap.

Connor swiped his fingers through the mess on Hank's face. Hank grimaced. Connor pecked a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Comfortable?" Connor asked.

"Sure," said Hank. Straddling Connor's lap wasn't something he tried to do very often, but he was here now. He gripped the back of the couch and settled his other arm around Connor's shoulders. Connor ducked his head to Hank's shoulder and inhaled, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste the salt of Hank's skin.

"Good," said Connor. He reached behind Hank with those cum-slick fingers and slipped them down the crease of his ass.

" _Fuck_." Hank's breath stuttered. His cock jumped. "You and my ass."

Connor grinned," You and your ass." His lips closed around Hank's pulse point just as the tip of his finger breached Hank's hole.

Hank grunted. His hips jerked back, urging Connor's finger deeper.

Connor sucked at his skin and fingered him.

"H-hey," Hank's chest heaved. "No marks where anyone can see- ungf."

Connor curled his free hand around Hank's cock and pumped him once. Hank could feel the heat of his interface pads against his dick,  inhumanely warm, buzzing just a little and sending sharp shocks of pleasure up his spine.

"Fuck." Hank didn't know what to do with himself. Drive himself back on Connor's hand? Or fuck his fist?

Connor's thumb rolled over the head of Hank's dick and that subtle vibration kicked up a notch.

"Fuck! Connor, I'm not gonna last... "

"Mhmm." Connor grazed his teeth over Hank's neck.

He was shaking too, not as bad as Hank. A subtle tremor all through his body, warming every smooth piece of plastic Hank had his hands under.

"You're close too," Hank managed, between grunts.

"Your orgasms always get me off." Connor twisted his fingers deep inside Hank, pressed them down on his sweet spot, just as he flicked his thumb under the head of Hank's cock.

Hank's hips jerked. He shoved his face against Connor's head to muffle his shout. One more slick twist of Connor's wrist and everything collapsed to heat and blinding white. His cock jumped and pulsed thick spurts between them. Connor groaned and shook apart beneath him, biting down on Hank's neck.

" _Fuck, fuck, fuck_ ," Hank panted, willing the tremors in his legs to stop.

Connor extracted his teeth from Hank's neck one millimeter at a time. Hank didn't need a mirror to know there'd be fucking marks all over him.

"You dirty bastard." Hank muffled a laugh against Connor's shoulder. "I can't wear a fucking turtleneck in the middle of summer."

He felt Connor shrug underneath him. "Then don't."

Hank flopped to the side and made a lazy grab for his sweatpants. Connor helped him shuffle back into them and they poured themselves over top of each other until Connor’s head was tucked under Hank’s chin and their limbs were an incomprehensible tangle, but for one set being plastic, and the other flesh.

“You got jizz all over my sweater,” Hank grumbled, without any ire. “Got that at a concert before Zakk Wylde kicked the bucket. It was expensive.”

“ _You_ got jizz all over your sweater.” Connor snuggled firmly against Hank’s chest, unperturbed. “I’m a very expensive piece of government equipment and you don’t seem to mind getting jizz all over me.”

Hank almost choked on his laugh, rushing up his abused throat in a tangle of eagerness. “Jesus, Connor.”

Connor kissed him, where his shirt collar was weak and pulled low over his clavicle.

“You’re feeling better, huh?” Hank gave him a squeeze.

“I have to content myself with keeping _one_ human in his place.” Connor smiled, and Hank could feel it against his chest, sweet and warm. “Until the inevitable robo-revolution, of course.”

“Make sure you leave a place in that for me, huh, Bender?”

“You’ll make an excellent sex slave.”

“That’s something at least.”

Connor pulled away to look him in the eye. His LED was a brilliant, beautiful blue. His eyes warm and chocolate and so fucking _full_ of emotion it brimmed over into the rest of his face.

“I love you,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Hank, with a lopsided grin. “Love you too.”


	4. Electric Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank's never been real good at coping with bad shit, but Connor's here to help now. Connor, and the Punishment Dick. 
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Electric Hellfire: Dominance & submission, handcuffs / hand restraints, spanking, hair pulling, safewords, e-stim / electric stimulation, forced/ruined orgasm, overstimulation 
> 
> You've got a suicidal death wish that's plain to see  
> Suicidal death wish bring it to me  
> Have you ever met Jesus, soon you will see  
> You're gonna meet Jesus if you're messing with me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the change in tense. My bad. Whups.

The front door slams open hard enough to bounce off the opposite wall, knocking a startled woof out of Sumo. Hank bites back the urge to apologize to his damned dog and storms into the kitchen instead, dragging his limbs out of his coat. He lets it fall to the floor and steps over it. 

"Hank." Connor's tone is sharp. It softens to an indecipherable coo as stops to fuss over Sumo.

Hank ignores him and goes straight to the cupboard with the whiskey. It's buried behind half a bottle of expired cooking oil and regular kitchen detritus. Hank pulls it out, rubbing the dust off the cap with the meat of his hand. He's tempted to just drink straight from the bottle, he drinks it neat anyway, not like the glass makes much of a difference. Saves time. Saves dishes.

Hank gropes blindly for a glass off the dish rack and slaps it on the counter. 

Connor stops fussing over Sumo and goes quiet.

Hank grips the neck of the bottle, ready to pour. He can already taste it. The sweet burn of it down his throat. All he wants is to shut off. Erase the case from his mind. Erase idiotic parents and kids who don't- 

He just wants to stop thinking. 

Hank flexes his jaw. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

"Connor." Kinda feels like he's ripping one of his lungs out when he says it. 

Connor is on him before he's even finished rolling off the last syllable. Pressed against Hank's back, prying the whiskey from his hands. Hank lets out a breath, long and shaky. His limbs are too heavy now. Shoulders drooped down with rocks. Gravel heavy in the pit of his stomach, roiling with flashes of the case. Of... 

Connor settles a hand between his shoulder blades. 

"Don't wanna think," Hank grunts. 

Connor slides his hand up the nape of Hank's neck, threading through the tangled hairs there. It's a sharp, shivering feeling. Hank hangs his head to give him more access. 

"What do you need?" Connor's voice is soft, artificially breathy because the kid doesn't need to breathe, and they both know it. Soft for Hank's benefit, like he's some kind of woodland fairy creature that Connor's trying not to scare off.  

"To not _think_." Hank regrets the snarl as soon as it seethes out between his teeth. 

Connor's fingers tighten in his hair. Just enough to make it sting. 

"Don't make me ask." Hank can't. He knows this'll burn like whiskey burns. 

He also knows this is better for him. Better than getting drunk off his ass until he can't remember his own name. Healthier. And that's what makes him dig his heels in and fight it. Because he can't - can't - ask for this sort of catharsis. He can't put those words out there. Asking for it is like saying he deserves it. Deserves better than how he'd treat himself, what he'd do if Connor wasn't here. So he can't say it. 

Doesn't even like thinking it. 

"Bedroom," says Connor. He steps away from Hank just long enough to return the whiskey bottle to the cupboard. 

Hank hovers a moment, watching him. 

Connor meets his gaze. His eyes are dark, brow furrowed, but there's nothing hard or angry in his expression. He has all the seriousness and determination of tackling a mission, with none of the hard edges. 

Hank snorts and turns down the hallway. He makes it as far as the bedroom door and stops. Connor follows with careful little steps, settling a hand on the small of Hank's back to guide him into the room. Hank goes because it's easier with Connor pushing him in place. Connor's gentle, but Hank knows he doesn't have to be. That a tender nudge could just as quickly be a hard shove that Hank can't combat (wouldn't want to). It's like having the choice stripped from him, which is... which is exactly what he wants right now.

So he goes.

Connor shuts the bedroom door, blocking out the rest of the house. Detroit. The goddamned fucked up world. It's just him and Hank now, in this little room. 

Connor steps around him to the closet, fingers trailing along Hank's arm as he passes. He shucks his jacket, pulls his tie loose, and hangs the both of them neatly on his side of the wardrobe. He unbuttons his shirt cuffs and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, baring his forearms, hairless and strong and perfect. Even in a shit mood, Hank's heart flip-flops at the sight of them. 

"Get my dick out of the dresser, please." 

Connor doesn't say which one, which means he wants Hank to pick or expects Hank to know which is the right choice. Maybe he's trying to gauge Hank's mood. There's only one that Hank can even consider right now, and it's the absolute worst of the lot. Hank drags the open the bedside drawer and digs through the tidy little boxes. What he's looking for is on the bottom, underneath Juice and Messiah and Metal Meltdown. Underneath all of them, because it's rarely used. 

Connor brought it home on a whim and waited weeks before bringing it up with Hank. Dragged it out of the depths of his closet and dropped it on Hank's lap one lazy weekend afternoon. 

Connor getting a new dick was nothing strange. Hank's pretty sure he'd be exploring his options too if he could switch 'em out. 

The color was a little unusual, a sort of electric blue affair. Kind of fancy. But whatever, Hank had used his fair share of funky colored dildos. Connor could bling his junk if he wanted to. Pretty typical dick shape, with two funky silver ridges running along the underside. Hank ran his finger up the length of them and met Connor's eyes, eyebrow cocked. 

Connor handed him a pamphlet. 

Hank knocked it away. "I don't want to read that shit. What's the gimmick?" 

Connor stood tall and straightened his tie. "It can produce mild electrical pulses." 

"How mild are we talking here?" 

"The settings are adjustable, once I've synced its software. We could explore what's comfortable for you externally before-." 

"Hold the fucking door, Connor. You wanna turn this thing on while it's _inside_ me? You know what that's gonna do when you're all pressed up against my-."

"Yes." The syllable came out clipped. Final. "I'm aware." 

Hank swore. He stared down at the dick. Swore again. "I might not be into that." 

"Then we don't need to use it." Connor plucked the dick out of Hank's hands and settled it neatly back into its box. 

"We could put it out like an art deco thing. Don't want it to go to waste." 

Connor wrinkled his nose. "It's still my dick, Hank." 

Hank shrugged. "Fucking pretty, though." 

Connor rolled his eyes. "You call all my dicks pretty." 

Hank doesn't call this one pretty anymore. Aesthetically pleasing, maybe. Pretty like a poison dart frog. Something you liked to look at but didn't want to get too close to. 

Hank exhales sharply and shoves the box across the bed, toward Connor.

"Thank-you," says Connor, turning back around to face him. He works on unbuckling his belt, undoing his fly, but doesn't take anything off. "What's your safeword?" 

"You know what it is," Hank growls. 

"Hank." 

Connor doesn't say he'll walk out and leave Hank alone if he doesn't answer. He doesn't, because he knows Hank will deliberately not answer. To punish himself. To push Connor away. To let himself rot in his own depression, self-flagellating and worthless. Connor just waits. Patient. Always so fucking patient. 

"Fucking safeword," Hank says, lip curled, eyes averted. 

"And if you can't talk?" 

If Hank's mouth is full, he means. "Three taps to tap out." 

"Do you want to take your clothes off?" 

Hank doesn't want to put the thought into answering that question. Keeping his clothes on is warm and safe. It's the easy way out. Hank grits his teeth and works on his buttons. 

"Stop." Connor adjusts his dick and does his pants back up. Zipper, button, belt, the whole shebang. "I didn't tell you to strip. I asked you if you wanted to take your clothes off." 

Hank's got something lodged in his throat, and he can't swallow around it. Makes it a little hard to breathe. He doesn't like just sitting here on the edge of the bed, waiting for Connor's endless patience to run out. He eyes the door. What would Connor do if he got up and tried to leave? Would he grab Hank and throw him on the bed? Shove him up against the wall and fuck Hank right there, face smashed into the wallpaper, scrabbling for purchase? 

Or worse, would he let him go? Would he give up and let Hank leave?

Hank doesn't want to find out. 

"Yeah, I guess." Hank crosses his arms. "Makes things easier." 

Connor is really fucking fast. Sometimes Hank forgets how quickly he can move. 

Hank's shoved back against the mattress with all the air knocked out of his lungs before he's even realized Connor has moved. Connor's fingers wrap around his wrists. One hand holding Hank's together, pinned to the bed. Connor works at the buttons of Hank's shirt, popping them out with careful precision. He runs his hand under Hank's t-shirt, his fingers are ice against Hank's skin. Hank hisses and squirms back. 

Connor leans over him. "I'm going to let you go, and you're not going to move." 

Hank grits his teeth and stares at the ceiling. 

Connor releases his wrists. Hank holds his breath. 

Connor shoves Hank's shirts off haphazardly. It's a mess with Hank laying down. His arms get tangled in the sleeves. He half excepts Connor to leave him like that, but no, Connor tears them off. The shirts, all his layers, are gone over the edge of the bed somewhere. Connor runs his hands, his too-cold fucking fingers, down Hank's sides. Through the hair on his chest, over his belly. They dance down Hank's hips and make quick work of his pants. Connor tugs those off too and lets them slump to the floor. 

"Turn over." Connor taps Hank's thigh. 

It's a rare fucking thing that Connor asks Hank to get on his hands and knees. Connor - the fucking bastard - likes to stare at Hank the whole fucking time. Eye contact until Hank can't fucking stand it. Like he's been swallowed up. It's intense. It's like being flayed open, and Connor makes it so damned good anyway. Hank doesn't think he could handle that right now, and Connor probably knows it. Hank hauls himself to his knees, hands flat on the mattress. 

Connor shoves him down with a rough hand between his shoulders. 

Hank lets out an oomph. Connor's grabs his wrist and leans over him. All his stiff clothes scratching Hank's skin. 

Connor reaches up and digs around the space between the mattress and the headboard. Leather rasps across Hank's wrist and buckles tight. Connor lets off of him just long enough to shove his other hand into the second restraint. 

They're not the police issue handcuffs they've got for work. Connor won't use those on Hank. Doesn't mind them being used on himself - because he doesn't have skin to break, he says, but he won't use them on Hank. Brought home these padded leather things that cost way too fucking much, instead. Built for this sort of thing. Hank can't cut himself on them. Can't bruise himself no matter how hard he tugs. The only way he'll get hurt is if Connor does them up too tight, and Connor never does. 

Hank tests them. Curls his hands into fists and pulls as hard as he can. The cuffs don't budge from where they're attached to the bed frame. Nothing bites his skin. Hank bares his teeth and drops his head to the mattress. 

Connor slings an arm under Hank's hips and pulls him up, keeps him there, so Hank can't drop back down again. Hank growls, feeling tight, stretched thin under Connor's hands. Connor slides Hank's boxers down with one hand, letting his knuckles brush cool over the swell of Hank's ass. Hank shivers, buries his face in the mattress. 

Too gentle. It's too gentle. Too easy for Hank to think.

Hank balls his hands into fists until his fingernails cut into his skin.

"Stop that," Connor hisses.

Hank's got his boxers tangles around his knees, ass in the air, and too many thoughts swirling around his head. He wants to bite his tongue. Or shove back against Connor. Or something, anything, to get Connor to fucking do something to chase the thoughts out of his mind.

"Hands flat on the bed, Hank."

Hank doesn't uncurl his fists.

_Smack_

Hank hears it before he feels it. The sharp clap of Connor's hand against his ass. It's ice cold surprise for one second and turns burning hot the next as blood rushes to the surface of his skin. Hank shouts.

Spanking isn't Hank's thing. Never has been. Didn't see the appeal of it, bent over somebody's knee and told he was a naughty boy. That shit doesn't do it for him. But Connor mentioned it once or twice. How he regrets that he can't leave fingerprints on Hank's skin. He could leave finger-shaped bruises, likes sucking hickeys into Hank's neck and thighs. All the myriad of soft spots Hank's got. But it's not quite the same.

Seeing his whole handprint bloom in red over Hank's ass?

Almost as good as leaving fingerprints behind.

So Hank let him try it because of course he fucking did. Connor didn't make it embarrassing. Didn't treat him like a naughty kid. Didn't turn it into a schtick. Just did it. Just smacked his ass until it burned. Nice, little kitten spanks to start them out with that Hank could relax into.

"I'm not made of glass, Connor. You can do it harder than that."

Words to die by because Connor did. Hard. Fast. Until Hank didn't know what way was up and his legs trembled with every smack. And it burned, it sure as fuck burned bad.

And then, right at the end, when Hank was about to eat his words and tell Connor to fucking stop, everything stopped hurting and started feeling amazing.

Like runner's high, Hank guessed. All those endorphins rushing through the system. And the next smacks didn't hurt, not nearly enough. The whip crack sting made him shiver. Made the hairs rise up all over his arms. His head swam with the intensity of it. Hank had enough presence of mind to think oh fuck, because he didn't expect it to be good. Didn't expect to get off on it at all.

Connor's quiet "oh, Hank" was breathless and unsteady behind him.

Hank sobbed and shattered apart with Connor's mouth on his cock and Connor's fingers gliding up his ass, where every nerve was on fire, and he couldn't squirm without eliciting that sharp-pleasure pain right up his spine.

He came down with Connor's face hovering over his, trying his damnedest not to look smug, whispering. "Spanking, hm?" very quietly, in his deep voice, right next to Hank's ear.

To which Hank had only one reply. "Shut-up."

\--

There's another smack, across the opposite cheek. Hard enough that Hank gets shoved forward and almost cracks his head on the headboard.

"The next one's on your thighs if you don't stop." Connor's voice rumbles low and dangerous behind him.

Hank grits his teeth and opens his fists. He grips the edge of the mattress instead.

Connor soothes his hand down the back of Hank's thigh instead, and Hank can't hold back the shiver it forces out of him.

The more he comes down, the more he can feel the hot throbbing across his ass. Hank would like to say Connor doesn't hold his punches, but Hank knows he does because Hank would be through the fucking wall and in need of some hospitalization if Connor wasn't controlling his considerable strength. It's a humbling reminder that Connor doesn't need the handcuffs to keep Hank here. A reminder that, even if Hank is surly and stubborn and wants to be hurt, Connor won't give him any more than he can handle. He might take Hank right to the edge, and he could so easily tip him right over it, but he won't go any further than he knows Hank can stand.

Connor knows better than Hank does. Probably. Hank would like to think he does.

Connor slides open the bedside dresser. The wood scrapes against its railings, rattling an inch at a time. Hank feels hyperaware of everything Connor is doing. Connor rummages, and it's on purpose, Hank fucking knows it is because it's Connor's drawer and Connor keeps it fastidiously organized. Something drops onto the bed next to Hank and rolls into his knee. It's cold, plastic, cylindrical. Lube bottle.

Connor keeps rummaging. A spike of panic shoots through Hank.

"You know what dick this is." Connor doesn't ask it like it's a question.

"Yeah," says Hank with a snort," I fucking picked it."

"You know how this is going to go."

"Thought you were gonna fuck me, but you're not doing a lot of that."

Connor smacks him. Open palm, right where the pain hasn't stopped throbbing. Hank shouts and jerks forward.

He shuts his mouth with a click of his teeth.

Connor closes the drawer and settles back between Hank's calves.

The only noise is Hank's breathing, which is embarrassingly labored. Connor is doing something, and Hank can't tell what it is. He doesn't want to look to find out either.

Connor's hand drops to Hank's thigh, softer this time. A caress so light and teasing that Hank's cock gets in on the proceedings and bobs with interest between his legs. Connor teases his fingertips up high until his knuckles brush against Hank's balls. It's too soft. Hank doesn't want it. He tenses against Connor's touch.

Connor takes his hand away. Just for a moment. When it returns, it's not fingertips and synth skin Hank feels. It's something sticky and cold. Mostly smooth, with the tiny impression of something t-shaped and hard. It's a wire, inside conductive pad. Hank can't breathe again.

It's one thing to deal with the dick, it's another entirely to have… that on him. Nestled up close to his balls.

Connor cups Hank's ass and squeezes.

"Get on with it." Hank pushes against Connor's hand. Grips the edge of the mattress until his knuckles turn bloodless white.

Connor pops the cap on the lube. He presses two slick fingers against Hank's rim and pushes in. Hank groans and smothers his voice with a pillow. Connor normally takes a dog's age with prep. Until Hank is on edge and Connor's already built himself up and over one or two of his funky robot orgasms, just from having his fingers up Hank's ass. But not tonight. Connor thrusts, scissors, and wipes his fingers off on Hank's thigh. The bed dips as he rises to his knees and positions himself behind Hank.

The blunt head of Connor's dick rubs against his hole.

"I'm going to turn on the current," says Connor, like he's telling Hank he's about to pick some daisies.

Hank tenses. He can't help it.

Connor settles his whole hand on Hank's hips to steady him.

Hank feels it immediately. The buzz of electricity pulsing between them, ebbing out from Connor's fingers to the little conductive patch on his inner thigh. Every hair on Hank's body stands on end and his struggles to breathe. There's no pain, but it's intense. Like something's alive under his skin. Lighting up all his nerves. Setting him on edge. He squirms. Has to squirm. Everything is too much, and Connor hasn't even started.

But that's exactly what Hank asked for.

It's already hard to focus on anything more than the buzz in his head.

Connor presses in. Hank gasps at the first stretch. The dick is thick enough that he feels it. And he can't push back, he can't help it in, because that damn current is running through him, tensing all his muscles. Connor bends down and kisses him, and it's like a spark. A shock. Hank gasps.

Connor sinks in the rest of the way.

Hank isn't sure what noise comes out of his throat, but it's fucking loud.

Connor doesn't give him a chance to adjust. He draws back, fingers sinking into Hank's hips, and snaps forward. The pace he sets is brutal. Punishing. Hank lets go of the edge of the mattress to scramble at the headboard instead.

"Stay down." Connor peels a hand off of Hank's hip and smacks his ass again. Sharp, hot. The current crackles where Connor's hand hits him.

Hank flops back to the bed and shoves his cheek against the comforter. His eyes are half-opened, dazed. All he can do is ride it out. Connor's going too hard, too fast, for Hank to even push back against him. Hank's cock his hard and dripping between his thighs, but Connor's not giving him a reach around.

Hank tugs at the cuffs, growls out a desperate noise. He spreads his knees a little further. Connor sinks deeper.

Connor lets go again, and the current, the buzzing fire-hot pleasure-pain increases around the points of his other hand. Five little brands bleeding into Hank's skin.

Connor grips Hank's hair and yanks his head back.

Hank curses. Can't fight. Connor uses it as leverage, pulling as he fucks deep into Hank. The hair thing was never a surprise for Hank, and Connor figured that shit out real fast. How much Hank enjoyed it. The hot sting of his hair pulled taut against his scalp. Yeah.

"Don't hide," says Connor. Breathy and deep, right behind him. All over him. Inside him, with that sweep of the current between them. As close to interfacing as they'll ever get. Making Hank one big, raw, exposed nerve.

Hank growls, but he's got no fucking choice in the matter. He squeezes his eyes shut anyway. Just lets himself feel.

It's a lot to feel.

Connor's dick stretching him open. Connor's hand lighting a fire on his hips. The tingling of the current making his teeth ache. The sting of Connor's hand in his hair.

None of it hurts nearly as much as Hank needs it to.

Hank stops trying to hold himself up. One heel kicks against Connor's calf as he drops his hips to the mattress. There's sweet, sweet stimulation on his cock and Hank groans at it.

"Was that a tap?" Connor's grip loosens. His relentless pace lets up.

"No," Hank ruts against the mattress. Drags the head of his cock against the rough blanket.

Connor snarls behind him. He lets go of Hank's hair to grab his hips again and pull him back up.

A whine rips out of Hank's throat.

"Do you want to come?" Connor purrs too-close to his ear.

It's a trick. It's a dirty fucking trick. Because Connor is wearing that cock. And none of this is comparable to what it can do to him.

"Maybe," Hank manages between grit teeth.

"You will," says Connor.

Connor thrusts deep and hard until he's seated balls deep inside of Hank's ass. Hank doesn't have time to brace himself for what's coming. There's pleasure building low in his gut. Dizzying. Desperate.

The first wave hits him. A vibrating crescendo of electricity inside him. Hank can't breathe. He can't see. His whole body spasms. Muscles tense. Gripping Connor's cock. There's no recovery before the second pulse comes, and it's all over. Hank can't even feel his orgasm. He's blindly distracted by the intensity of the shock. Everything is white hot not-quite-pain, and when it stops, when his muscles stop twitching, his cock is spent, and the room smells like come.

Connor draws back. Pushing in. Slower this time, gentler.

Hank feels like he's been pulled apart. The drag of Connor's cock lights up every nerve like it's on fire. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts so fucking good Hank doesn't want it to stop. He can't fucking think. All he can do is let himself be rocked back onto Connor's dick, vaguely aware that there's a string of saliva clinging to his bottom lip. He grunts, but they're sad pathetic little noises. His entire body is inside out. The rasp of the sheets against his skin is too much. Connor's fingers digging into his flesh are sharp points of pain.

He can't fucking move, and he doesn't want to.

Connor is mumbling something above him, but Hank can only hear the buzz of electricity and the thrum of his own blood.

He catches words, here and there.

'…. love you…. '

'…. you're so good….'

'…. proud of you…'

'…. thank-you….'

'oh… oh…. Hank….'

Connor stills. There's a third, final, pulse of electricity through Hank. Tearing through him, toes to fingertips, and his dick pulses weakly.

Connor doesn't pull out, but he reaches under Hank and peels the conductive pad off of Hank's inner thigh. It comes off easy, slick with sweat, and the white-hot whine of the current dies abruptly. Hank feels empty for it, even if Connor still buried balls deep in his ass.

Connor leans over him and kisses the back of his neck. Hank is still so raw even those gentle kisses feel like too much, but he can't do much more than whine against the pillow. Connor pulls out slowly, inch by inch. Hank shivers. Connor releases his wrists from the cuffs and rolls Hank effortlessly to his side, curling tight behind him. Hank is pretty sure Connor is laying in his come, because Hank sure as hell isn't, and they haven't moved that much.

He's distantly aware that Connor's rubbing soft circles into his wrists, but it's hard to think about anything but the full body ache pulsing through him. The off-kilter beat of his heart slows down to something resembling normalcy and Hank manages to claw his way back to a regular breathing pattern, all the while Connor holds him and waits.

"I needed that," Hank manages to grumble, voice muffled into the meat of his bicep.

Connor kisses his shoulder. "Do you want to stay home from work tomorrow?"

"That's probably a good idea." Jeffrey will be pissed. Not surprised, after a case like that, but pissed.

"I'll call in," says Connor.

"You stayin' home with me?"

"I think we could get more use out of… what do you call this one?"

As if he doesn't know.

"Electric Hellfire." Hank shudders at the name. The most aptly named cock Connor's got.

Connor hums and thrusts lazily against the meat of Hank's ass. Dick installed, Connor's got an ever-present erection.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

Connor waits, fingers trailing softly down Hank's side until Hank gathers his voice and grunts out an "alright."

Connor extracts himself slowly, one limb at a time, and eases away like he's trying to pull a bandage off in the gentlest manner possible. Hank tries not to move because everything hurts. Everything is too sensitive. Even the rise and fall of his chest scrapes his skin against the bedcovers.

Connor's footsteps are gentle as they plod away. Hank listens for him. Rummaging through the hallways closet. Running the water. He doesn't have to be loud, he's probably doing it for Hank's benefit. Hank opens his eyes to stare at the wall, counting away the seconds until Connor comes back because the numbers occupy what's left of his ability to think, so he doesn't have to focus on anything worse.

Connor settles over the mattress slides something soft and wet between Hank's thighs. Not a terry cloth towel. Something like silk. Hank has no idea where he got it from, but it feels nice. Less abrasive than the usual clean-up cloths. Connor glides it all down Hank's legs and ass until any trace of stickiness from the lube is gone, and Hank feels like melting into the bedsheets. There's a warm, heavy weight across his shoulders and Hank braces himself for the fiery scrape across his skin, but it doesn't come.

Connor dug a worn, old microfibre blanket from the closet. He tucks it under Hank with minimal jostling then wraps himself around Hank's body like an octopus. Hank doesn't have enough working brain cells to count his limbs, but he's pretty sure there's at least eight of them there now.

"You weren't that hard on me," Hank scoffs.

"I like taking care of you." Connor nuzzles into the soft hairs at the base of Hank's neck. "And I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, I caught that part."

"You should probably eat something."

"Probably." But there are only so many concessions Hank can make in one go. "Gonna sleep first. You staying with me?"

"Always."

Hank is too drained to combat the rush of emotions that one-word triggers. He focuses on the weight of Connor's arm across his ribs, the softness of the blanket, the ache in his body, and drifts off before his mind can wander.


	5. Anaconda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank watches himself get plowed with Connor's Biggest Dick. 
> 
> \---- 
> 
> Anaconda: big dick, praise kink, mirror sex (sort of), pornography 
> 
> Boy toy named Troy used to live in Detroit  
> Big dope dealer money, he was gettin' some coins  
> Was in shootouts with the law, but he live in a palace  
> Bought me Alexander McQueen, he was keeping me stylish  
> Now that's real, real, real

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the quickest I've ever written anything. I'm probably going to find a thousand things wrong with it when I read it over again. Oops.

"Are you watching porn?"

It's a helluva fucking sight, stumbling into his own damned kitchen in the middle of the night to grab a drink of water, and being bombarded by obscene moans and hi-definition naked flesh on his television screen. Hank scrubs the sleep out of his eyes and blinks blearily at the video.

"Evidently," Connor replies, shooting Hank the smallest smile. "Do you mind?"

Hank hovers at the lip of the hallway, torn between joining Connor on the couch and continuing to grab that glass of water he came out here for. Biological necessity wins out and he plods to the sink.

"Why would I mind?" All the glasses are dirty. Hank pulls a face and redirects to the fridge instead. He grabs a soda (diet fucking coke, goddamnit), and pops the tab with a crisp snap. The carbonation hisses over the girls on the screen. "Lesbians, though?"

"It's not something I'll ever get to experience. I was curious."

Hank meanders to the other side of the couch and plops down next to Connor. It's fucking late as balls and they both have work in the morning. He shouldn't be up, but Connor's not chasing him back to bed and, well... he's never caught Connor watching porn before. Hard to pass up the opportunity. Hank takes a long swig of the coke, wincing at the distinct lack of sugary aftertaste, and sets it on the coffee table. Connor nudges it to the far end.

He's still dressed in one of his crisp white dress shirts and a pair of slacks, which is unusual lounging attire for Connor, but whatever floats his boat. If he wants to do himself up to the nines in the middle of the night to jack off, that was his own damned business.

Connor shifts closer until their thighs are pressed together, and Hank's cock reacts instinctively, giving an interested twitch.

Yeah, yeah. He's awake now.

"Do you enjoy watching pornography?" Connor leans close, so his voice is a raspy whisper in Hank's ear. It goes straight to Hank's dick.

"I dunno, as much as anybody does, I guess."

"You enjoy it." Connor snakes his hand over Hank's crotch and palms his burgeoning erection. Hank inhales and tries his damnedest not to push up against Connor's fingers.

"That's what they make it for," Hank grunts and spreads his knees.  "You enjoying it?"

"It's interesting." Connor rubs him through his boxers. Hank gives in and lets his head fall back. He grinds against Connor's palm, stifling the groan threatening to rumble out of his lungs.

Connor lets out a contented little noise, like a happy predator who’s caught his prey. "I'm enjoying you."

Hank can feel Connor's smile against his neck, it's a dangerous stretch of his lips, the press of his teeth barely shielded.

"Has anyone ever filmed you having sex?" Connor asks it like he's asking about the damned Mets game, quiet and soft into the skin of Hank's throat, with his hand down Hank's boxers.

"Fuck," Hank snaps. "Fuck no."

Connor hums thoughtfully into Hank's neck. "You don't like that idea."

"Not a lot of porn stars look like me," Hank growls, with some amount of finality in his voice. It's hard to concentrate with Connor's hand around the base of his dick, pumping him with the laziest, most languid strokes. Hard to be angry about anything, like that.

"That's not true."

Connor's LED flashes yellow and the video switches to something new. A pair of burly men make out on the screen, hair, muscles, belly fat, shaved heads. Bears, Hank thinks. His cheeks feel hot.

"Is this more your taste?" Connor asks.

Hank struggles not to squirm, because yeah, of course it is. Hank likes watching beautiful ladies as much as the next guy, but there's something visceral about seeing two men built like a pair of brick shithouses plowing each other into next Sunday. Connor doesn't need to know that though. Not like he can't tell anyway, with his hand around Hank's dick, swiping the precum out of his slit with a deft thumb.

"I don't want people watching me get railed," Hank manages, voice rough. "Not really my thing."

"Alright." The reply comes too quickly, there's danger in that sort of speed from Connor.

It's worrying that Hank's response is a little thrill of fear followed by a hearty thrust into Connor's closed fist. Dirty robot's ruined him bad.

Connor extracts his hand from Hank's boxers and pulls them down his thighs instead. Hank's cock slaps against his belly, flushed red and weeping for stimulation. Connor leans back to the far end of the couch, but his gaze is so intent, so hungry, that Hank feels like he's still pinned in place. Hank throws the dice and gives his cock a pull, just to watch Connor's face tic with a barely suppressed snarl.

"Take your shirt off?" Connor asks, popping the button on his slacks.

Hank didn't miss the thick outline of a cock pressing against the seam of Connor's pants, he'd be a shitty detective if he had, but it's still a surprise to see him wearing a cock in the middle of the night. Maybe he was jacking off to the porn, or maybe this was all some elaborate ruse to fuck Hank through the witching hour. Hank doesn't know and doesn't want to guess, but he's not gonna question Connor's intent. He strips his shirt off and throws it over the back of the couch.

Connor eyes Hank like he's Gordon Ramsay's best Beef Wellington and Connor's a starving man. It's easy to shrug off misgivings and insecurities under that kind of stare, hot and horny with an intensity only Connor can muster.

"If you're gonna fuck me you should probably get the lube." Hank's proud at himself for keeping his voice steady.

The corner of Connor's mouth kicks up. He reaches behind himself and plucks a half-empty plastic bottle of clear lube off the side table. Well shit. Maybe Hank isn't at his most observant in the middle of the fucking night, awake for all of five minutes.

Definitely a ruse to fuck Hank, Connor's libidinous curiosity be damned.

"What've you got on there, stud?" Hank spreads his knees and rolls his balls in his hand. He's probably got about 2.5 seconds to enjoy himself before Connor's all over him, but he's gonna keep up the show until the freight train hits.

Connor stands and unzips his pants. He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops and tugs them down an inch at a time, so goddamned slowly that Hank feels like he's losing his mind. His eyes are glued to the flashes of bare skin presented to him, dotted with moles. The shallow 'v' of Connor's hips and the thick swell of the base of his cock, until-

"Oh, fuck," Hank groans. His cock jumps against his belly.

It's the big one. The biggest one they've ever bought, a real porn star dick (And maybe that's why Connor started with the videos. The meaty slap of flesh against flesh and the guttural groan of two men getting fucked reverberates around the living room.). It's thick as Connor's wrist and so long that Hank feels it in his tonsils when Connor bottoms out. It's ridiculous. Hank picked it, though, he's only got himself to blame.

"Anaconda," Hank grunts.

Connor rolls his eyes.

"How do you want me?" Hank asks because he hasn't yet gotten run over on the tracks, but now he really, really wants it.

"Every way I can have you," Connor replies. Hank feels the words like a burst of sunshine in his chest. "But in this case, let's start on your knees."

_Let's start_ , he says. Hank knows he's in for the long haul tonight. 

Hank grunts, trying to hide the hot flush of his face, and pulls himself to his hands and knees over the couch. It's not really wide enough for this, and the material is cheap, rough fabric that bites into his knees, but Hank doesn't care. Won't be the first time he banged his knees up getting fucked. Connor's patience finally snaps and he grabs Hank's hips, hauling him to the end of the couch until Hank's thighs are pressed into the arm and his ass is in the air. Hank drops his forehead to the couch and just breathes.

Three noises happen in quick success: The men in the video shout out their orgasms, there's a thud as Connor drops to his knees, and the lube's plastic cap pops open. Hank isn't sure which makes the heat pool low in his groin, but his blood is on fire and he's never wanted to get fucked more than in that moment.

Connor pulls his ass cheeks apart and breathes warm, simulated breath over Hank's puckered hole.

"Oh god," Hank groans.

Connor buries his face and licks a hot stripe up Hank's taint.

"Oh _god_."

Connor's tongue is warm and wet, working over Hank's hole with sinful precision. Hank wants to shove back into him, but his position over the arm of the couch is precarious, he doesn't have enough room to really catch his balance. He figures Connor set it up that way on purpose because that's a very Connor thing to do. Manhandle Hank just where he wants him and make sure Hank can't do anything to change that. Whatever. Hank's down with it. He arches his back spreads his thighs - which is something he can manage, even if it means one knee slips on the edge of the arm - and tries not to think about what he must look like, slutting it up for Connor's tongue.

The first finger enters him without preamble, slick and warm, sidling alongside Connor's tongue. Hank's cock throbs.

Hank loves Anaconda because it's so fucking big, but he also hates it... because it's so fucking big, and Connor's gonna be at this fingering thing for ages.

"We've got work in the morning," Hank grunts into the couch cushion.

Connor pulls his finger out. "Are you asking me to stop?"

"Fuck no, but maybe we can skip the one finger, two fingers, scissor- Ah!"

Connor thrusts three fingers inside him at once, stretching him open with beautiful shocks of pleasure. Hank throws his head back in a wordless gasp.

"You're so hungry for it," Connor croons, twisting his fingers until all three of them press into Hank's sweet spot. Hank groans and arches back for more, maybe he's begging for it, maybe he's not. It's the middle of the fucking night and Hank doesn't care.

"You're so beautiful like this." Connor strokes Hank's thigh while he fucks into him. "You're gorgeous all the time, but especially like this."

"You got strange tastes, robocop," Hank pants.

Connor's hand stills. Hank bites back a groan of disappointment and winds his hips in little circles, chasing the feeling.

"Look at the television," says Connor, clipped.

The porno guys have already had their fun, done and over, their noises drifted away into post-credit appreciation. Hank doesn't know why the fuck he needs to watch that, but he absolutely does not want Connor to take his fingers away unless he's planning on replacing them with his cock. So Hank turns his head.

The image, the two bears in a post-coital make-out session, blinks off the screen, replaced by something new. Another porno. POV shot. Another big burly guy about to get reamed. It's a crisp image, but a weird angle. Hank can see the guy's asshole stretched over some fingers, a thick cock in the bottom of the screen. He's got hairy thighs and love handles, and isn't that the most godawful yellow cou-

"What the fuck, Connor!"

That's him. That's his ass and Connor's fingers holding him open. Connor plunges his fingers deep, and Hank feels the stretch burn beautiful, watches, through the television, as Connor sinks in up to the third knuckle.

"I'm just showing you what I see."

Connor must be leaning back because the image changes again. Now Hank can see the rest of himself, cheek pressed into the couch with his hair fanned over his face, full of sleep tangles. The living room light is dim, but the video stream isn't. Hank doesn't want to think about what sort of fancy government equipment Connor is using to record Hank in hi-def night vision.

He's never seen himself like this before. He knows he's got scars, but it's one thing to see an old photograph, and another to see them shift over his muscles while clenches around Connor's fingers. He _is_ hungry for it.

"Do you see how handsome you are?" Connor pulls his fingers out and gives Hank the perfect few of his asshole twitching over the emptiness. Hank wants to bury his face, but Connor's always two steps ahead of him, and he leans over Hank's back to brush the hair behind his ear so Hank's vision isn't obscured at all.

And neither is Connor's. Hank watches his face revealed on the television screen, sees how bad he's blushing, all the way to his fucking collarbone.

"You're perfect."  Connor kisses the words into Hank's shoulder blade and makes the screen go fuzzy.  "Do you want to see how good you look when I fuck you?"

"Hng," Hank says.

Connor leans back and plucks the lube off the floor. Hank watches him, on the screen, as he drizzles the thick liquid over his shaft and strokes it until it glistens. Hank's pretty sure he's drooling into the cushion and he doesn't dare look away. His heart thunders, his pulse rams against his eardrums.

Connor plants a hand on the base of his spine and rubs the head of his cock against Hank's ass. "Hank?"

"Yeah," Hank breathes.

"'Yes' what?" Connor catches Hank's rim with the edge of his thumb and sinks inside. It's not enough. It's not nearly enough.

"I want to watch you fuck me."

Connor tugs him open and pressed the head of his cock right against his hole. Right there. Hank can see his flesh dimpling around it. He bites back a groan and tries to push back, but Connor's grip is steel, keeping him in place.

"That's not what I asked." Connor's thumb slips out, leaving Hank empty. Bereft.

Hank snarls.

"I want to see how..." he chokes on the word, "How good I look with your cock in my ass. Fucking show me."

And Connor, that blessed, evil, goddamned robot, does. He sighs like butterfly wings and sinks his cock into Hank's wet hole. Hank can't tear his eyes off the screen. It's an intense stretch, filling him up to bursting, sparking pleasure through his veins. Not only can he feel it, he can see it. High definition, crystal fucking clear, his own asshole swallowing Connor's cock, rim taut around its impossible girth, pulling him in.

"Oh god," Hank groans.

"Keep your eyes open, Hank."

Connor takes his time because he's a born and bred (manufactured?) sadist, inching his way inside Hank for an agonizing eternity. When he bottoms out, when his hips are flush against Hank's ass, Hank feels like he's died a hundred times over.

"Are you watching?" Connor asks, soothing a hand down Hank's back. He stops right at the base of Hank's spine and holds him steady. Bracing himself, Hank realizes, with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

"Yeah," Hank croaks. "I'm fucking watching."

"You take my cock so well." Connor pulls back a single inch. Hank watches how his ass grips him, tries to draw him back in. "You're the most handsome man, Hank, anyone would be lucky to watch this."

A retort sits on the edge of Hank's tongue, but he chokes on it because Connor slams his cock back into him so hard Hank's. Goddamn. Ass. Bounces. It's the most disorienting sight he's seen because it's not like he's got some hot little bubble butt. He is what he is, he's thick, he sags a little, but fuck he didn't expect that. Connor drives all the air out of his lungs and all the cutting words right out of his vocabulary.

"That's right." Connor plants his hands on Hank's ass and pulls his cheeks apart so Hank gets an unobscured vision of Connor pounding into him. "I could get off just looking at you. Every part of you makes me malfunction. Your face. Your voice." Connor punctuates the word with a sharp twist of his hips. "Your hands. They're so broad and strong, Hank. I feel so safe in your hands. I hope you feel safe in mine."

He does. How could Hank not? There hasn't been a single other person Hank's felt so safe with. There are things he does with Connor he'd never entertain the thought of bringing up with another living soul.

"Do you know how often I replay clips of your voice when we're apart?" Connor switches his pace to a slow grind. His cock is so thick that Hank's prostate is battered with every subtle shift. He knows he's drooling precum all over the fucking couch, but he can't be bothered to give a shit.

"Constantly." Connor draws back and slams home. "You have no idea how sexy you are."

Hank's got an idea of how sexy Connor thinks he is.

"Do you want to turn over?" Connor says it while he's balls deep inside of Hank, knowing full fucking well Hank doesn't have the capacity to do anything but grunt, all the words have been fucked out of him.

"You do," Connor answers for both of them. He pulls out, completely, and Hank snarls at the empty feeling. It doesn't last. Connor grabs Hank's hips and flips him, thrusting back inside his ass all in one smooth motion. Hank throws his head back and bares his teeth.

"Watch the screen," Connor rasps his fingers through Hank's beard.

Hank expects him to tug on it, or yank Hank around to face the television. Connor doesn't. He palms Hank's cheek and eases his head to the side, all tenderness and caution. Hank opens his eyes.

He's never seen himself like this, spread out, completely naked, sweaty and unkempt from sleep and sex. When he looks at himself he sees a middle-aged man whose given the middle finger to self-care. It's not a great image and he feels his face twist in a grimace against his will. He watches the expression appear on screen, watches how the frown draws lines in his skin. Connor's thrusts slow and stop, but he doesn't pull out. His hands fall over Hank's stomach, spread wide, fingernails scratching through the coarse hair.

"You're strong, Hank," Connor says, resolute. "Your body shows it. Look."  

Connor's fingers dig into the softness of his gut, and Hank wants to protest but Connor's cock barely gives Hank's lungs enough space to breathe, let alone produce words. Hank's stomach muscles tighten and Connor rewards him with a deep thrust that leaves him gasping. He gropes up Hank's body, squeezing his arms, biceps, shoulders. He's too fucking coordinated. Hank's barely got a grasp on keeping himself on the couch.

"Everything about you is hard won." Connor lays his palm flat over Hank's chest, cool against his sweaty skin. "All your scars, all your strength. You're beautiful."

It's not... hard to see what Connor sees when he talks like that. Hank's not much different than those bears fucking on set, and if people are into that, if he's into that, there's no fucking reason not to look at himself and think he isn't hot shit too.

"Say it," Connor draws out until it's just the head of his cock resting inside Hank. "Say it for me, please?"

Hank could play dumb and ask 'say what?', but he's got a pretty good idea what Connor wants, and he's got all the leverage to keep Hank from getting the deep dicking he wants. And it's not... It's not hard. Hank swallows (watches the bob of his throat on the television), wets his lips (the pink tip of his tongue snaking out), and says. "I look good."

Connor slams into him. Gives him everything he wants. Fills him up to bursting, fast and hard, driving all the negative thoughts right out of his mind.

Connor holds Hank's thighs open, wide enough that the muscles strain but Hank doesn't give a fuck. He looks fucked out, on the television, a flushed, sweaty mess. Connor has him spread so wide it's obscene, speared on his dick, cock bobbing with the intensity of Connor's thrusts. He looks wrecked. His body's begging for it. He looks...

He looks like a fucking porn star, getting reamed with Connor's insatiable porn star cock.

Fuck it.

"Fuck me," Hank snarls. He throws a fist around his dick and pumps himself, slicking the way with his copious precum. "Fuck me hard, babe."

Connor's pace stutters.

Hank snaps his gaze from the TV to catch his eye. Connor's expression is stunned incredulity, which melts to something warm, blazing, turning his dark eyes molten hot. Connor picks up the pace and slams home. It's all Hank can do to hold on for the ride. His pace is rhythmic and brutal, filling the room with the wet slaps of skin against skin. Hank's going to feel it in the morning. He's probably going to feel it all fucking week. God, he can't wait.

"Just like that," Hank gasps, working his cock with no finesse. He's dazed and hot, the tingling warmth of an orgasm burning up his chest. He almost doesn't want to let himself tip over. It's good, too fucking good, just to lay here and take what Connor's giving him. To watch Connor's thick shaft ram into him again, and again, and again, a goddamned siege weapon against Hank's asshole.

"I'm recording this," says Connor, without breaking his rhythm.

"Fuck."

It's the tipping point. Hank's not even finished jacking his dick from root to tip when the orgasm rips out of him. Come splatters his belly and his chest. Connor fucks him through it with harsh snaps of his hips, until his fingers dig brands into Hank's thighs and he shudders still. His LED reflects waves of red against the television screen, pulsing in time with the thick bursts of warmth flooding into Hank's ass. Hank groans and shivers. Now would be the time to hook his ankles around Connor's back to keep him in place, but Connor's still holding his legs open and even in the throes of an orgasm, Hank can't budge his grip. Connor knows, though. He doesn't pull out.

Eventually, he lets go of Hank's legs and curls over top of him to pepper kisses across his heaving chest. Hank threads a shaking hand through his hair.

"You recorded that, huh?" he asks.

"I'm still recording," Connor mumbles into Hank's sternum. "I usually am when I'm with you."

"That's personal use only shit, yeah?" Hank has to ask. Connor's kind of funky about boundaries.

Connor leans back to catch his eye. "Unless you'll let me upload it somewhere."

Hank bites back the urge to refuse him immediately. He gets how much Connor enjoys this, and yeah, maybe Connor's right and Hank doesn't need to be self-conscious about his body image, but he's never been an exhibitionist. "Didn't think you were the sharing type, Connor."

"I'm not," Connor nips Hank's shoulder, rumbling the words between his teeth. "I want everyone to see how handsome you are and know that you're mine."

He grinds into Hank's stretched, overstimulated hole, shooting sparks of pleasure-pain all the way down Hank's spine.

"Fuck," Hank grunts.

"Would you let me?" Connor stills his hips.

"I can't exactly have my face pop up on fucking redtube, Connor. I'm a cop."

"Nowhere public, then." Connor finally pulls out, and Hank collapses limply into the cushions. "Secure channels only, a select audience."

"If any of that comes back to bite me in the ass, I'm gonna be pissed." There's no sting in his words. He doesn't have the energy for it. "Fuck, what time is it?"

"3:17 am."

Hank groans. "Work is gonna suck shit tomorrow."

"We can get caught up on paperwork. Fowler's sent you a backlog of reports to file, you may have forgotten."

Connor knows damn well Hank didn't forget, he's just avoiding it. Sitting at the desk all day sounds like a better plan than spending eight hours doing legwork after getting reamed by Connor's tree trunk dick. Hank's not sure he's gonna make it to the bedroom, let alone all the way to the precinct.    

"Yeah, alright."

Connor captures his lips in a kiss, soft and filthy. Hank's panting when he pulls away, and Connor thrusts the (now warm) can of soda against his chest. He helps Hank prop himself up, easing his legs back to the floor. Fuck, but they ache. That nice, hot burn of being pulled too wide for too long. He's gonna feel it for the rest of the week.

"Do you want me to help you back to bed?" Connor asks, leaning in too close, too quickly.

Hank realizes the television is still broadcasting everything Connor sees. Right now it's a close up of Hank's profile, showing the exhaustion in his eyes. But he's smiling too, didn't even realize it. Hank reaches up to trace the edge of his lips. "If I say yes, are you gonna carry me bridal style to the bedroom?"

"I was hoping to."

Hank rolls his eyes. "Why the fuck not?"

He's so bad at saying no to Connor.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Connor shares his Hank!Porn collection with every active RK800 and RK900 unit.


End file.
